


Ander and the Druid

by alice_time



Series: The Druid's Guidance [2]
Category: The Shannara Chronicles (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Discipline, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 13:45:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12367023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alice_time/pseuds/alice_time
Summary: Allanon has his work cut out for him with so many reluctant young men about. But he's not particularly concerned, he has it well in hand, as Ander discovers.





	Ander and the Druid

“Your highness.” Allanon paused. “You’re drunk.”

“So you are magic.” Ander shrugged, downing the rest of the glass. He reached for the pitcher and Allanon strode forward, pulling it away and casting it to the floor.

“This is _not_ the time for you to fall apart, your highness.”

“I was drinking that!” Ander stood, slamming his hands on the table. “And I’m no king. I don’t want it. I didn’t want it then, and I don’t want it now.”

“You must—”

“Abdicate? I intend to do so. Tonight, after the eulogy.”

Allanon’s brow furrowed. “I strongly advise against it.” He put a hand on Ander’s shoulder.

“Why? Kael is far better suited to what lies ahead.”

“Kael is no hero.” Allanon’s grip tightened. “She hid behind these walls while your father and Shea Ohmsford defeated the Warlock Lord.”

“Oh good, yet another story I can never live up to.”

Allanon’s clouded expression darkened further. He dragged the soon to be king away from his chair, shoving him down over the table and pinning him there, one arm twisted up behind his back.

“Ah!” Ander struggled.

“Is this what you want? To be known as the drunken fool who forfeited the crown.”

“It’s what’s best for Arborlon,” Ander snarled. “Let me go!”

“No, it is not.” Allanon shook his head. “And you and I need to discuss that before I let you go.”

Ander struggled, but a drunk elf, even a well-trained, drunk elf, was little match for the more experienced Druid. “Discuss? There’s nothing to disc—”

A hard, well aimed, smack to the center of Ander’s ass cut off his complaint. Allanon gave him a moment. “This discussion, I should note, will include my hand and your ass.” He struck again.

“How, how dare you?”

“I’m about three hundred years older than you, for one,” Allanon growled. “And you’re drunk, for another.” His next smack was sharp enough to echo against the stone walls. “You are going to be king, Ander. You have it in you.” He continued his barrage, blithely ignoring Ander’s swearing and struggling. “You may want to settle, your highness. I don’t think you want anyone else to see you this way.”

Ander clenched his jaw. Allanon was right about that, at least.

“Now, let’s continue.” The druid continued, laying his calloused weathered palm against Ander’s fabric-clad ass. Ander’s alcohol haze melted way in the face of the heat starting to build there. With that sobriety, however, came the grief again. His father was dead. His brother was dead. His aunt was dead. His niece was in great danger. How was he supposed to be king? His father had been a great king. His brother _would_ have been a good king. Either of his brothers.

But instead, fate had been cruel, leaving the Elvin kingdom with…him. The failure. The drunk. They didn’t deserve that.

“You are not a failure, Ander. Not yet. You can lead. You can be the king they need.” Allanon’s tone turned gentle. “You do not want to be king, I understand. No good king does. But they do need you. Your niece needs you to lead these men. To give her time to return to the Elcryss.” His hand was not gentle.

Ander choked out a sob.

“I know,” Allanon said. “I know how much you have lost. I do. So much. But you will be king. You can be king. Do not let their sacrifice be in vain.”

Anders could not stop his tears. “It should never have been me.”

“I know.” Allanon eased his grip, letting Ander up.

The elf braced himself on the table, shoulders shaking. Allanon pulled him into his arms for a firm hug.

“They’re dead,” Ander sobbed. “I was useless. Helpless.”

Allanon rubbed Ander’s back. “One day, when this darkness has passed, you will see yourself as the king I know you will be. For now, just trust me when I say, you _can_ do this. You are king, Ander. You are king. You will make your brothers and your father proud.”

Ander slowly regained his composure and Allanon let him loose, looking into the king’s eyes. “Well?”

Ander took a deep breath and nodded. “I am king.” He looked back at Allanon. “You have a hard hand, druid.”

Allanon smiled. “Well, I’m used to dealing with reluctant boys.”

Ander’s ears reddened.

“Go wash your face, change your clothes. You must show your people that you are ready to be king.”

Ander nodded. “I—thank you, Allanon.”

“Any time, your highness. Any time.”

 


End file.
